4/16/2009

I injured myself in my furniture making class last night. There were these steel rods that I need to smash the ends of in order to create brackets for my ironing board. I'd done it before with two other rods and now needed to work on the rear legs. Well, the damn things weren't smashing. I gave it my all with that sledgehammer but the steel was actually denting the vise. That's how damn strong it was.

Occasionally, Teacher John would walk by and ask how it was going. It was not going well but I didn't want to act like a puss, even though I had to pause to renew my energy approximately every ten seconds. So I took a longer break and came back hammering with renewed vigor. Nothing. The steel wouldn't budge. But the skin on my first finger sure did. A blister had formed then ripped itself open within a span of three minutes. It didn't hurt but that's when it struck me that this was all wrong. The steel I'd hammered before wasn't nearly so difficult. I compared the rods and realized they were different steel. Different, impossibly tough steel. It was a total waste of my time, money and pride. I seriously have about seven incorrect rods now due to not knowing what the hell I'm doing. Learning sucks. You can tell your children I said that, too.

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I am The Heated and Pistolina Records

Hey, I'm so glad you're reading this. It makes me feel a little zing. Oh, you wanted to know what's going on here? I think The Heated sounds like a little group of people who scrounged around and created instruments from what was lying about in a moment passion, moved by the inexorable need to make some noise. Two sticks from the tinder box became a rhythm section. A sewing machine cover as the bass drum. Whatever they could get their hands on.